The baby will be named Elvis
by MidOfNight456
Summary: Sam's last moments with Freddie before he dies. One-Shot.


Disclaimer: I do NOT own iCarly :'(

Also, I do not own the song Braille by Regina Spektor, but you NEED to hear it, it's amazing.

I walked into the hospital room, my guitar banging against the inside of my sore knee caps. I walk up to Ms. Red haired, green eyed receptionist and ask for room 303. She eyes me and my bump, shakes her head and says down the hall. Along my journey I think of how she's the perfect ginger. Not a blemish in sight, no angry piercing, and a slim curvy figure. I push her to the back of my mind as I reach the room.

He looks just as pale as ever but I don't let that bother me anymore. I don't let anything bother me anymore, especially not today. I was on a mission.

"Sam" he rasps with the biggest smile he could muster. Wasn't much, but he tried.

"What up dork? How they been treating you?"

"Use…your English…Sam. It's, how have…they been…treating you" he makes out between coughs. Gosh, even half dead he's still a nerd. "And they…have…been delightful." Hearing him talk almost deters me from my mission, it sounds like he's getting worse.

"Guess what? I wrote a song for us, before you know, you croak" I say with a laugh. It hurts. Fake laughing always hurts.

"Go on" he doesn't get my sense of humor. Let's hope the baby does.

"Wait a minute Mr. impatient. I have some good news first…it's a boy" I say looking down at my swollen belly. I watch as his face lights up and can't help the smile forming on my face.

"Hopefully he gets…your beauty and….my brains" I blush and pull my guitar around front, careful not to crush the little feller.

"I'm naming him Elvis, Elvis Freddie Benson"

"Elvis? Sam! You can't….name our baby Elvis!" Whoa, only one cough this time. He truly is his mothers child, letting something that little upset him.

"I can and I will" I say as he rolls his eyes, knowing I had won.

"You said something about a song?"

"Oh yeah…" After tuning the guitar, I took a deep breath, looked at him once more, then the monitor, told him I loved him, then played.

_She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marksShe hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a godSo she names the baby ElvisTo make up for the royalty he lackedAnd from then on it was turpentine and patchesFrom then on it was cold Campbell's from the canThey were just two jerks playing with matchesCause that's all they knew how to playAnd it was raining cats and dogs out side of her windowAnd she knew they were destined to becomeSacred road kill on the wayAnd she was listening to the sound of heavens shakingThinking about puddles, puddles and mistakesNow it's turpentine and patchesNow it's cold, cold Campbell's from the canThey were just two jerks playing with matchesCause that's all they knew how to play_A tear slid down my face as I heard the constant beat of the monitor come to a halt. The doctors rushed in but I was currently unaware of anything at the moment. Besides the fact that the father of my child and love of my life was lying lifeless on the bed before me. I couldn't see him but I had been watching his face through the song. He looked happy. That's all that mattered. Oh yeah, the song. It wasn't done.

As the doctors placed a blanket over his face, I picked up my guitar again, determined to finish the song.I looked out at the night sky, and ignored Carly coming to sit next to me, and Spencer's comforting hand on my shoulder. I also ignored the tears rolling down Mrs. Benson's eyes and pushed everyone away. I walked over to the bed, ignoring the many protests and pulled the blanket down. As I touched his cold face, Mrs. Benson went crazy, running out of the room. I heard a faint sound of glass breaking, but ignore that too.

I took my seat near the bed again and strummed away.

_Elvis never could carry a tuneShe thought about this irony as she stared back at the moonShe was tracing the years with her fingers on her skinSaying why don't I begin againWith turpentine and patchesWith cold Campbell's from the canAfter all I'm still a jerk playing with matchesIt's just that he's not around to play alongI'm still an ass hole playing with candlesBlowing out my wishes blowing out my dreamsJust sitting here and trying to decipherWhat's written in Braille upon my skin_

"Bye Freddie, hope you get to meet the real Elvis in Heaven." I whisper, kissing his forehead and walking away.


End file.
